Orchids on the Black Lake
by Maria de Salinas
Summary: One month after the death of her beloved Elphinstone, Minerva McGonagall must face her grief and decide whether or not to return to Hogwarts. Along the way, she will find that comfort can come from unlikely places.


Minerva had been staying with her brother for a month, and the carpetbag was heavy with books and clothes and photographs. The handle was starting to dig into her hands, so she set it down a moment and looked out over the Black Lake.

The smell of lake water and the warm dampness in the summer air brought her back to that night when she'd gone walking around this lake with Elphinstone. She'd linked her arm through his and for awhile they were so deep in conversation they hardly noticed anything around them, but then they'd stopped to look at the night sky.

Elphinstone had forgotten where most of the constellations were, so Minerva had shown him how to find Cassiopiea and Cygnus and Lyra, but she noticed how quiet he'd become and when she turned to him he was looking at her as though not hearing a word she was saying.

"Did you hear a word I just said?" she asked him.

Elphinstone smiled a little. "I suppose I was too busy watching you to listen," he said. Minerva gave him a look that was half-amused, half-exasperated.

"You're pretty when you look at me like that," he said. She gave him a slightly reproachful smile.

He put a hand to her face and gently stroked her cheek. "I love you," he said. He brought his face to hers and kissed her, long and slow, and when their lips parted he gently rested his forehead against hers. "Will you marry me?" His voice was soft, his breath warm on her face.

He had asked her this before, but this time she did not hesitate. She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Yes," she told him.

They were married that summer, right beside the lake, a nice, quiet, dignified ceremony with their families and the Hogwarts staff. They'd followed the old Scottish customs of buying each other's wedding clothes and sharing a drink out of the quiach, the two-handled cup, and her brother had played their father's bagpipes. She was so content she didn't even mind when Hagrid nearly broke all her ribs pulling her into a hug and kept refilling the quiach with Firewhiskey and drinking out of it.

As she remembered, Minerva reached into her pocket for the orchids Elphinstone had given her once. She'd dried them and she always kept them tucked inside her robes. She reached for them so often it had become a deeply ingrained habit; she was scarcely aware she was doing it. When she was sure they were safe, she took her hand out of her robes and picked up the carpetbag.

They'd bought a cottage in Hogsmeade, so she could walk home every evening. When she opened the door and the familiar scent hit her she was sick all over and started to shake. She imagined that Elphinstone was just in the kitchen, getting her a cup of tea as he often did when she came home in the evening. Any second and he'd come out of the kitchen and she'd sit and talk with him. But the house was empty and still.

She looked over at the table. She and Elphinstone would sit in their pyjamas and read the Prophet Saturday mornings and discuss the stories. He'd been in Slytherin back in his school days, and was more of a traditionalist than she was, and their debates were lively and sometimes heated, but they never took them too seriously.

Sometimes for dinner they'd go out to a restaurant in Diagon Alley or to their favourite wizarding pub in Edinburgh for a pint and a plate of haggis, or there'd be a feast at Hogwarts, but otherwise they always ate dinner together at the cottage.

Elphinstone knew her better than almost anyone. She was a Scot, like him, and he knew she secretly loved a dirty joke. The naughty look he would give her when he told one, like a little boy pulling a prank, was as funny as the jokes were. Sometimes he would do something completely inappropriate, like belch loudly at the dinner table, and just when she was about to give him a good scolding he'd give her that look and she'd start laughing. She almost laughed now, just remembering.

She made her way to the bedroom, and now she could scarcely stand. She sank down on their bed.

She'd felt a bit foolish, when they first married, being forty-six and so inexperienced. She was nervous when Elphinstone took her to bed. She'd tried not to show it, but he always knew."Don't be nervous," he'd told her in a gentle voice, holding her close. "You're with me."

He was so loving that night, so hungry for her, her nervousness melted away, and she saw and felt nothing but him. They made love often. Sometimes it was exciting and intense, like that first night, and sometimes it was comfortable and familiar. They would lay there afterwards and talk until they started to doze off.

She buried her face in his pillow. His scent was still there, cologne and cooking herbs and something sharp and earthy. She buried her face in it and clutched it as though it were him.

And that's when she knew she couldn't stay there. She couldn't sleep in this bed without waiting for him to come into the bedroom in his pyjamas. She couldn't sit down at the table without expecting him to join her, without hearing his voice. He was here, and yet he wasn't here, and it was unbearable to her.

She slept in their bed one last time, and the next day she packed up her things, her books and photographs and clothes. She packed up one of his favourite robes and a nightshirt and placed it carefully in her bag. The furniture she would sell, along with the cottage. She took one last look around, then closed the door and left.

* * *

Her old room in the castle was small, but there was a fire in the hearth and a large window with a nice view of the grounds and the mountains beyond. It was strange to be here, as though she'd gone back in time. Sometimes she would think she was late to meet Elphinstone for dinner or a walk around the lake. When she woke up at night she didn't know where she was or why she was there. Then she remembered and she was sick.

She had summoned an elf for breakfast one morning, when there was a knock at her door. She opened it to see Albus standing there, in deep blue robes embroidered with a flaming red Phoenix. She'd always found his manner of dressing rather ostentatious; she didn't know why he couldn't show up wearing a nice sensible tartan from time to time. But she was used to it.

"Would you care to join me for a walk in the grounds?" he asked. She finished her toast and got up to join him.

"How are you keeping, really?" he asked as they made their way towards the forest.

"Oh, as well as can be expected, I suppose," she said, watching a doe make its way across the quiet grounds.

"I suppose you know the saying, time heals all wounds," said Albus. Minerva nodded; she hated that saying.

"Well, it is, if you'll pardon my vulgar language, utter bollocks. Not a day goes by that I don't think of Ariana. But I think you'll find that it does get easier."

"I do hope you're right about that, Albus," she said. "It certainly doesn't seem that way now."

They walked in silence awhile, until the greenhouses came into view. Minerva stood and looked at them. She felt Albus watching her.

"I want to throw all Venomous Tentacula in the world into a pile and burn the damned things into oblivion," she told him.

"Quite understandable," he said quietly.

She was staring at those greenhouses with such fury she was surprised they didn't burst into flames. After awhile she felt a light touch on her arm.

"Come, Minerva, why don't we stop by Hagrid's for awhile?"

They made their way to Hagrid's hut, and he provided a pleasant enough diversion, but Minerva decided to lie down before they had lunch together.

She tried to get into a routine over the next few days. A few times she went into Diagon Alley, to the bookstore and the magical instrument shops. She bought herself a new telescope and got a haircut. It was hard to get going some mornings, but she usually felt a bit better when she did. And yet, when she went to bed at night, she couldn't stop thinking about him. She would wake up in the middle of the night and reach for him and he wasn't there. He used to snore sometimes, and she would tease him and give him a hard time about it. Then she discovered she could flip him onto his side to stop it, so she'd started doing that. Sometimes she'd have a nightmare about her brother's murder, and he would wake up and hold her until she fell back asleep.

After a few weeks in the castle she was beginning to slip again. She kept the curtains closed and some days she didn't even get out of bed. One morning she thought she heard a tapping on her window, but didn't even bother to check what it was. Not until the tapping got more insistent did she get up. An owl flew in with a letter in its beak. She opened it to see that Pomona was coming to the castle to see her.

Pomona always spent the summer at her cottage in the Cotswolds, where she'd grown up. She'd never married, but she doted on her nieces and nephews and loved to dig in her garden. Minerva hadn't realized how much she'd missed her.

She met Pomona in the Entrance Hall, where Pomona swept her up in a warm embrace. Minerva was comforted by the fullness and softness of her. They'd been friends ever since their third year at Hogwarts, when Pomona had expertly saved her from an attack by a rogue Bouncing Bulb during an Herbology lesson. Minerva respected her for her skill, and loved her for her good heart and irrepressible optimism.

They sat down in Minerva's office and Pomona charmed a kettle to boil for tea.

"How are you?" she asked.

"I don't know, Pomona," Minerva said, sinking back into her chair. Pomona handed her a cup and Minerva took it gratefully, clutching it in both hands. "Some days it seems I am getting past it. And then...I start thinking about him constantly and can scarcely get out of bed."

Pomona looked at her, but she seemed to know that nothing could take it away, and waited for her to speak again.

"I knew him for so long, you know. Over thirty years. He asked me to marry him a long time ago, but I simply couldn't get over Dougal..." Her hands were shaking and she had to set her cup down and steady her breathing. "If only I'd done it sooner, we could have had that much more time." She put a hand to her face.

Pomona squeezed her other hand. "You shouldn't be so hard on yourself," she said firmly. "You had no way of knowing this would happen."

McGonagall was quiet a moment. "I suppose," she said. They were quiet again, just drinking their tea.

"Why don't you come back to the Cotswolds with me? Stay for a few weeks? It might help you."

"Well..." Minerva took a long drink of tea and considered. "Yes, perhaps that might be what I need," she said. After they'd had a few cups she packed up a few things and walked to the gates with Pomona, where they spun into the air.

She'd been here before, but she'd forgotten just how beautiful it was. Pomona had a greenhouse that she'd charmed to represent different biomes; there was cactus and sagebrush in one corner, lichen and spruce in another. But Minerva liked best to sit in the back garden, watching golden snidgets drink nectar out of one of the enormous flowers that grew everywhere. A colony of fairies had settled in and they were nice too look at, although the gnomes got on her nerves. When one bit her ankle she yanked it up by its ear and tossed it across the fence with all the force she could muster. She knew Pomona was too soft-hearted to get rid of them

Pomona charmed her own beer, a crisp pale ale that Minerva was quite fond of, and they'd sit in the gardens in the evening and drink and talk. Her grief was still raw, but less jagged; it was more of a dull ache now. Some mornings she would walk along the road to the little village.

Wizard dwellings had their own distinct markers; the most obvious being the lack of gas meters or electrical hookups. Sometimes she could hear the pawing and snorting of a Hippogriff that had a Disillusionment Charm placed on it, or a dog playing in the yard with a forked tail, or a small Quidditch hoop for children to practice throwing into. When she passed by a cottage with a Flutterby bush out front, she stopped to look at it. There was a small "For Sale" sale sign tacked in the front yard. It was a nice house, small and well-kept. She thought about it all the way back to Pomona's.

The next day, she announced her decision to Pomona as they were eating breakfast. The food was good but she'd been staring out the window.

"I've decided to retire here," she said, absently holding her fork over her food without seeing it.

Pomona set down her newspaper. "Retire?"

"Yes. I just don't see how I can return to Hogwarts. There are too many memories..." She glanced down at her plate. "And I just don't see how I can focus properly on teaching, in my state. I don't think I can give it the attention it deserves."

Pomona looked her straight in the eye. She was kind, but she could be direct when she needed to, which was one of the things Minerva appreciated about her. "You don't really want to give up teaching."

Minerva couldn't quite meet her eye. "I just don't know, anymore, Pomona," she said.

"Well," said Pomona, "It's your decision. But all I can say is that I think it would be a great loss to Hogwarts, if you left. I don't know of anyone more capable than you." She looked at her closely. "Think of the impact you've had. Do you really want to give that up?"

Minerva didn't say anything to this. She was grateful for her words even though she was not sure she believed them at the moment. She started to eat as Pomona went back to her paper and the silence was a comfortable one, but she was troubled by her thoughts.

After they'd finished eating she contacted the estate agent, a rather too enthusiastic fellow by the name of Avurus Fortescue, and had a look at the place. But she left without making an offer.

* * *

That August was hot, and by the end everything had that faded, end-of-summer look. She had not wanted the summer to end as quickly as it did. She sat in the guest room on the bed with her carpetbag open and nothing packed. She couldn't seem to move.

There was a knock at the door. "Are you ready, Minerva?" Pomona asked. She was wearing her best patched hat and tawny robes.

"Well..." her voice trailed off into a sigh.

Pomona didn't say anything to this, and Minerva thought of the castle and the grounds and all the memories there. She thought of Dumbledore and Pomona and Septimia and Filius and even Severus, whom she was beginning to respect, unpleasant though he could be, and most of all she thought of her Gryffindors, who were expecting to see their Head at the staff table that night. After a long silence, she picked up her things and put them in her carpetbag and left with Pomona.

She was standing behind her desk the next day, waiting for her first class, absently tapping her fingers on the wood. She'd been distracted all morning and hoped she would be able to focus.

It was a group of second-year Hufflepuffs, diligent and eager to learn, except for one little troublemaking exception with garish pink hair.

"Miss Tonks, will you stop making that rat dance? You are distracting the other students." Blushing, the girl lowered her wand.

Not ten minutes had passed when she was at it again. "Miss Tonks, that is an inappropriate use of a Levitation Charm! Five points from Hufflepuff."

She had twenty minutes of blessed silence will her students read out of their textbooks but then-

"Miss Tonks! I have had just about enough of your behaviour. Detention, seven o'clock. And for heaven's sake, tone down that hair!" The girl screwed her eyes shut and her hair turned an nice, sensible brown.

Minerva wasn't sure to be annoyed or glad of the distraction when Miss Tonks came into the classroom that evening.

"Take a seat," Minerva told her. "You may work on schoolwork as long as you are quiet."

Minerva went to her desk to work on the next week's lesson plans, and it was quiet for awhile. Then she thought she saw movement. Miss Tonks had put her hand up.

"Yes, Miss Tonks, what is it?" she asked.

"I was just wondering, Professor, if I could practice that Vero Verto spell you showed us? Only I'm having a bit of trouble with it."

She was certainly correct on that point; her water goblet had still had ears, a tail, and sharp teeth in class that day. "Yes," said Minerva. "You may."

Miss Tonks drew out her wand and McGonagall gave her a rat to practice on. She could hear her muttering the incantation. She seemed to be struggling; her muttering had an edge to it and she thought she heard a few curse words in there somewhere.

"Here," Minerva said, getting up to stand beside her desk. She drew her own wand and demonstrated. "You need a quicker, sharper movement. And the stress is on the first syllable of the second word. _Vera _Ver_to._ Like this." She tapped the rat three times and said the incantation.

Miss Tonks' forehead was creased in concentration. She picked up her wand.

"_Vera _Ver_to_." The water goblet still had a tail.

"Try it again."

"_Vera _Ver_to. Vera _Vert_o_!" This time, there was nothing but a water goblet.

"A decent attempt," Minerva told her. For some reason she'd been moved to give extravagant praise.

The girl just looked up at her, face flushed and eyes shining a little. Minerva looked back at her, and knew she had made the right decision.

After her detention was done, she walked out to the Black Lake. The sun had set and the stars were coming out. That sick feeling was coming back again, but she accepted it, because she knew she could. She reached into her pocket for the dried orchids, and pulled one of them off. She tossed it into the water "I love you," she said.

She watched it float away, then walked back to the castle.


End file.
